


These hands that used to kill

by MINDinINK



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Accidents, Angst, Avengers - Freeform, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky is an EMT, Caretaking, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Deaf Clint Barton, Health Issues, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, No more Winter soldier, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Sickness, Steve can be an ass, They love each other, Tony Is a Good Bro, Trust Issues, injuries, nurse!bucky, relationships, they don’t realise it though, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27943376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MINDinINK/pseuds/MINDinINK
Summary: He had escaped HYDRA and had fought by Steve's side, until the moment he had realised he couldn't do it anymore. There was enough blood on his hands. Too many people had died because of him. He was tired of weapons and violence. He had spent a year of rehabilitation in Wakanda, gone through treatments under Shuri's watchful eyes,  profiting from her determination and knowledge and the country's technology. Returning back to Brooklyn he had made a decision. He went to school, got a job and no matter how much Steve had begged and disapproved,  he hadn’t changed his mind . His new battlefield was the back of ambulance 31. As an EMT and sometimes helping out at the ER , he now saves lives instead of taking them. His life is the closest to normal it could ever be- plus his best friends being Avengers.And there's Clint Barton, doing his best to add almost heart attacks and other minor (and major) drama to his life.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 9
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I owe updates in other places, but this story idea kept me up at night ! Also, there isn’t enough WinterHawk out there. 
> 
> Un-betaed. If anybody feels up to correcting the coming chapters, let me know.

The hand banging against the side of the ambulance didn‘t do more than making him smile. He had heard the person approaching the vehicle several seconds before, his advanced hearing picking up on the sound of boots against concrete floor. Sitting on the step at the back of the ambulance, head resting against the gurney behind him, he kept his eyes closed. He knew who it was, his unique gait had already given him away.

„Damn Barnes, telling you to move into the ambulance to satisfy your workaholic heart is a joke, you know that, right?“

He smiled wider, sitting straight and opening his eyes. A cup of coffee was held in front of him. It was good coffee, in an actual mug, not one of the abominations of brewings from the vending machine in the lobby. He appreciated it, took it and wrapped both hands around the cup. His hand was slightly cold and the warmth seeping into his skin from the contact caused a pleasant shiver to run through him. 

„Who did you charm to share their coffee this time? Rachel or Sophia?“

The first sip caused him goosebumps and he noticed that moment how tired he feally was. Cold temperatures normally didn‘t get to him, not even the cold weather of New York City in nearing winter. It was an indicator of how long it had been since he had slept, the amount of work he had done.

„The girls are all over you, man. No charming needed. She came out of the nurses‘ station shoving them into my hand“

He chuckled. Terence was one of those people always saying what he thought, the kind of person to crack jokes all day long, but also never hold back on an opinion. They had been partnered up for shifts regularly over the past months and Bucky enjoyed working with him. He was in his early thirties, with a work determination close to his own, except for the fact, that he didn‘t take double duties like Bucky.

„You need to stop doing that. I don‘t wanna have you in one of the beds here one day, because you worked more than you could take. Double shift? Seriously, Buck? Again?“

It wasn‘t a secret, that he sometimes helped out with the nightshifts. With nearing winter and the possibility of icy roads every night, he had frequently taken an additional shift at night. It wasn‘t a big deal to him, not while the only thing greeting him at home was an empty and silent apartment. He could do good at the hospital, catch naps in between and make sure no rowdy drunk coming in from a club fight was getting at the nurses. A win situation for everyone.

„Today was almost slow and did they tell you how much I worked last night? I slept most of the shift away, except for handling two guys, who needed some… extra attention“

He smirked and took another sip of coffee while Terence burst into laughter. 

„I heard that story. Dude, did you really lift the guy off the floor?“

He looked at him over the edge of his coffee mug.

„He kept ripping his IV out. It was less than an inch. No violence involved. He cooperated all night“

„Damn, where am I when you do shit like that? Would have been a sight to see. Everybody‘s darling lifting the guy by the collar“

„I‘m not..“ He stopped himself and Terence laughed once more, giving his back a hard pat in friendship. 

„Yeah yeah, Barnes. Drink up and then get your ass home. Andy‘s already here to take over. He‘s inside tryin‘ to charm Rachel again“

„Has anyone ever told him she‘s not into guys?“

„Nah, don‘t spoil the fun. It‘s too good to watch him try“

Bucky downed his coffee and handed the empty mug to Terence. Zipping up his jacket and pulling his beanie over his ears again. It had gotten cold enough by that point, to make their breaths create little puffs of white in front of them. 

„Want me to give you a ride home?“

„Nah, will walk. It‘s just a couple of blocks anyway. I see you monday“

Terence nodded and gave him another pat on the back. Bucky shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and walked down the ambulance driveway and out into the neighborhood. The sun was already disappearing again, making way for the night slowly. He hadn‘t been home in over twenty four hours and wasn‘t eager to return. It got that way sometimes, when the silence bothered him and his apartment, despite being a place he loved, felt too big and empty. So he was in no rush as he walked, breathing in the cold air and noticing that it smelled of snow already. It usually meant more busy times for them, more accidents happening, cases of hypothermia and broken bones landing at the ER constantly. 

His phone pulled him from his thoughts, vibrating in his pocket with several messages arriving right after one another. Only one person did that and he felt his heart leap in happiness about the prospect. He pulled the device out, walking faster. The first message was some kind of animation of a white guy with the line  _ Guess who‘s back ? _ And it made him chuckle. The second was another animation, same guy, saying  _ Back again?  _ Yeah, even without the symbol of bow and arrow instead of the name, on top of the message, he knew who was texting him. Only Clint Barton announced himself that way. Suddenly the idea of getting home was inviting, filling him with excitement. It wasn't too late just yet, and Clint may have been able to manage coming over at some time during the evening. 

>> All in one piece I hope<<

He didn‘t get an answer back to that, but that was okay. Clint might have been busy with debriefing or whatever it was they made him do after a mission that had lasted almost three weeks. It had been three weeks since he had last seen him and had worked for most of the time. A routine of double shifts, a day off, working out and trying to ignore the silence in the apartment, that no movie or music could have chased away. It had been three weeks and he had missed him. 

By the time he unlocked the door to his apartment, he was smiling like a fool. He could hear the noises of shuffling inside. His heart jumped, happiness flooding all of him and making him forget the cold he had walked through and the tiredness he had felt before. The door was still locked, telling him Clint had not come in through it. He shook his head to himself. Barton and his habit of entering through the window via the fire escape stairs. As he stepped into his place only the lamp by the sofa was turned on, warm light giving a feeling of coziness. The smell of pizza hit him and just the second he closed and locked the door again, Clint came walking out of his bedroom. 

His hair was still wet and even in the bit of light in the room, he could tell he looked tired, not to say exhausted. Still, he smiled at Bucky and he smiled back, dropping his bag and walking over to him. Clint was wearing one of his sweatpants and a hoodie that looked too big on him. He didn‘t mind him stealing his clothes, too relieved that he was back. They hugged and it felt like all the shifted pieces inside of him fell back into place as Clint held him tightly, face buried against his neck. 

They stood there for a few seconds, neither of them saying a word,breathing in each other's scent. Although Clint had showered, Bucky could still catch on the faint smell of smoke and metal on him. He allowed himself a few more seconds of being comforted, before Bucky kissed his temple and let go slowly. 

„Forgot your keys again?“

„Where’s the fun in using keys?“

His voice sounded as tired as he looked, but the smirk appearing on his face said it all. Bucky rolled his eyes and kissed his forehead, took a step back and looked him over. He hardly ever returned without some sort of injury, a circumstance Bucky had had a difficult time adjusting to. Even before he had finished med school, he had patched him up now and then. Ever since they had become a kind of..thing, the worry for his wellbeing had only intensified. 

„One day the neighbors will call the cops on you“

„And you‘ll bail me out“

He grinned ear to ear, knowing he was right. Bucky raised an eyebrow at him, took his chin between his fingers, turning his head left and right to look at him for bruises, cuts or whatever it was he could have gotten while being out. 

„I‘m fine, Buck. Stop that“

Clint pushed his hand aside gently, smiling and patting over to the kitchen counter where he picked up two pizza boxes. 

„I know your definition of  _ fine  _ , Clint“

There was no threat in his voice, just honest concern. Clint‘s pain tolerance was abnormally high and he could hide injuries others wouldn‘t even be up and walking with. He didn‘t like it when Bucky checked him over, but his friend didn‘t like him suffering either. Judged by the way he walked and the fact that his face looked fine though, he dropped it for the time being. He seemed, in fact, fine. 

„Should I ask when  _ you  _ last slept and ate properly? Fuck, Bucky… seriously? Shouldn't  _ you  _ know better?“

He handed him one of the pizza boxes, making an exaggerated disgusted face. 

„Your favorite. Hope you feel bad about liking greens on pizza“

Bucky laughed and gave him a nudge with his elbow as he walked by. 

„Says the one eating  _ pineapple  _ on pizza!“

„You don‘t know what‘s good, Barnes. Now get that sexy ass over here, before the pizza gets cold"

The archer flopped down into the corner of the couch, stretching out with his legs up and crossed at the ankles, pizza on his lap. Before Bucky even sat down, he had already inhaled the first piece of his pizza. Bucky wondered where he had been this time, under what circumstances he had had to work, to literally inhale his pizza with so much hunger. He scooted closer to him, his fleshy hand coming up to run through Clint's hair at the back of his neck, something he had found out could calm him down in many situations.

"Slow down or you'll feel sick later" 

Softly, with a small smile of understanding for his situation. Clint stopped chewing, looked at him like a kid having been caught stealing cookies. Seeing him smile, he resumed eating, slower that time. Bucky opened his box and smiled. Ham, broccoli, extra cheese. His favorite despite what Clint always said about it being a crime on Pizza. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he should have long before eaten something. Not working as an Avenger anymore, didn't unfortunately mean that his metabolism had slowed down in any way. It was the downside of the busy job he was pursuing these days. Mealtimes weren't included in destiny's schedule of accident and catastrophes. 

Clint just shot him a side glance, raising a brow. He swallowed the piece of pizza he had been chewing on.

"If you need some more, there's lasagna in the fridge. You need to run errands. Even your milk had turned sour already"

He put his slice down, leaned back into the touch and looked at him, more concerned this time, eyes locking with Bucky's. 

"Not like I'm a role model in the taking care of oneself department, but…"

"I know.."

He sighed and ran his thumb along Clint's neck, tensed muscles under his touch sparking some concern in him. 

"It's been a few hard days and I didn't have the time..or nerves to run errands. I came home and crashed. I had food at work"

"Remind me to give the nurses a medal for watching over you when I'm not around. We'll run errands tomorrow, ah don't roll your eyes on me James Barnes! That was the deal"

He shook his head the slightest bit and went back to eating, a small smile on his face. Bucky just kept caressing his neck while eating his pizza, knowing Clint was right. They had promised each other to take care of themselves better after Clint had broken a rib on mission and hadn't told anyone, while Bucky had pushed through double shift without food and only coffee, till the point he fell into the archer's arms almost passing out at home. The promise was set. He had just found it hard to be at home for more than sleeping. He should have probably told Clint by that point, but it seemed like every villain or insane genius had surfaced throughout the past four weeks, hardly giving them more than one or two nights together before he was called out again. 

He was pulled from his thoughts, when he felt Clint shiver hard under his hand. His pizza only half gone, he looked at him, eyes narrowed. His friend had already eaten all but one slice of pizza. He could only guess how hungry he had been. He would need to talk to Steve about the missions. His concern for that moment was on Clint though. 

„Hey, are you okay?“

He nodded, slowly and pulled his hand into the sleeve of the hoodie he was wearing. 

„Coming back from three weeks in another climate can do that to you. It‘s fucking cold in this city“

He pushed the pizza box fully aside and scooted close to Clint. Hand still on his neck, he placed his metal hand on his forehead. Against common belief, he did have all functions like a normal arm in his left, although it was artificial. Clint understood what he was doing and moved from the touch. 

„I‘m fine. I‘m just tired and need to adapt to the temperatures here, Bucky. Don't worry, I'm good. Nothing pizza and sleep can't cure" 

"I get you a blanket" 

With that he was up and off to the hallway closet, where he pulled out a quilt, that had been a gift from Shuri. It was a patchwork, in bright colors with the emblem of Wakanda as a center piece. It was heavy and warm, perfect to keep Clint from shivering. The archer accepted being tucked under it and had to admit, that the weight and warmth that settled around him was highly comfortable. They finished their pizzas, Clint telling Bucky the bit of Info that wasn't classified about the mission, leaving out the rather rough extraction and almost crash at the end. Done eating, he sent Bucky off for a shower, not missing out on the opportunity to give his ass a smack as the man got up.

"I wouldn't mind you wearing that uniform for me at weekends, you know? Gives you one sexy ass right there"

"Keep dreaming, Clint. Find us a movie, back in a few minutes"

He threw one of the pillows at him, that Clint caught and propped himself up against. Wanting to spend the limited time they had together with Clint, Bucky took a fast, but hot shower, returning to his friend in nothing but sweatpants minutes later. Clint had turned on the TV, but it was obvious how little attention he was paying to the documentary flimmering across the screen. Quilt pulled up to his shoulders, he was fighting to even keep his eyes open, his head already about to drop to the side. He was kept awake by pure stubbornness. Clint Barton, assassin and SHIELD agent looked so young and vulnerable that moment, Bucky felt a rush of protectiveness run through him. It didn't take a genius to guess how little sleep he must have gotten the past three weeks. 

Without a word he crossed the room and turned the TV off.

"Hm..wha..?"

Clint's eyes moved, face colored by confusion. Bucky leaned down and pushed his arms under him, picking him up with ease. 

"Shh… it's okay, big boy. Time to sleep, you've fought enough"

Clint sank against his chest, face nuzzling Bucky's neck as he let out a heavy sigh. 

"Jus' came home.. dun wanna sleep yet…"

He smiled to himself, not even paying the protest much attention. Already aiming for his bedroom, he kissed Clint's forehead. He felt him shiver, lowly but constantly. He only did that when he was either sick, or tired beyond his limits. He had learned that by that point, through years of observation. 

During his time at med school, Clint had often spent the weekends at his place, just to get away from Avenger tower and feel normal for a while. At some point he had something like partly moved in, his clothes having been placed in Bucky's closet and his favorite food stocked in the fridge and pantry. They had never talked about it. It had been a mutual acceptance of each other's presence. Both of them had gotten their advantages out of it. Clint had a place to escape to, where he didn't have to talk or could escape the prodding of SHIELD doctors after missions. For Bucky it meant less time in solitude, a person he could talk to at any time or just sit with while he learned for classes and exams. He could have gotten without the additional practice in stitching wounds closed or caring for the archer‘s concussions though.

The physical part had developed on the side. Up to this day he was convinced Clint had been just as surprised about it as he had been, when they had finally realised it. A pat on the back in the beginning, a shy comforting hug after tough days or missions, snuggling on the couch during movie nights. It had developed so naturally, that they had only noticed how comfortable they were with closeness and touching each other, when waking up in Bucky's bed together half naked after Clint had slipped in during the night after a particular nerve wrecking assignment. 

The archer belonged in this apartment just as much as Bucky did.

"You need the rest, stop fighting" 

Clint brought an arm up to wrap it around Bucky's neck, a harder shiver going through him despite the quilt that covered him still.

"Stay" he demanded and his voice had a childlike tone it only took on when he was half out of it. "I'm cold"

Bucky stopped besides the bed and fought to pull the covers back, to set the man down, careful to place his head on the pillow.

"I'll stay and warm you up" he promised, touched his forehead with the back of his hand again, just to be sure. No fever as far as he could tell. 

"Where have you spent the past weeks?" He asked while turning the bedside lamp on, kneeling in front of Clint and draping the quilt up to his shoulders again. 

"Malaysia.." 

Barely a whisper, but his ears caught the hoarse voice anyway. That explained the adapting phase. The climate change was just too sudden. 

'It'll be okay by morning" He started to run his fingers through his hair. "It's okay, big boy. Sleep. I'll clean up and then I'm with you" His voice had taken the soft tone he only ever used with the archer, when he was in states like this. He knew little about his past before SHIELD, very few but upsetting things about his childhood. He had figured out not long before that Clint sometimes needed to be taken care of, to just let go and let someone else be strong and make decisions. Bucky happily provided that for him. It came naturally. 

" 'kay.. be fast.." 

He kissed his forehead again and cupped his cheek.

"Of course. Ready?"

Clint just so much as purred in reply and Bucky reached for his ears to remove his hearing aids. It had taken almost two years until Clint had allowed him to do that. It had taken one nasty and long lasting ear infection, until he had agreed to let Bucky take out his aids over night if he forgot. It had been the last display of trust, that Bucky had needed. Clint allowed his care where he fought everybody else off. It was a privilege and he treated it as such. 

He placed the aids on the nightstand. Tightly tucked in he left the archer alone for a few minutes. He put the pizza boxes away, locked the door and windows, and filled two glasses of water of which he placed one next to Clint's hearing aids when returning to him. The archer's eyes fluttered open again and Bucky sighed. This wasn't good. Something had happened. Clint usually didn't fight sleep that much when he was at his place. He refused to fall asleep alone, that hardly ever meant anything good. 

He turned the light off, dropped his clothes and got under the covers, spooning up behind him and kissing his neck. In a ritual they had established over time, he reached for Clint's hand with his metal one, entwined their fingers and squeezed twice.

_ Place secure. Go to sleep. _

It felt as if his body partly deflated. With a deep exhale Clint's body went lax, smooshed against Bucky's front, holding onto his hand. Bucky stayed focused on his breathing until it evened out and he could be sure that the man was asleep. Only then he allowed his own exhaustion to drag him under.

They'd have enough time to talk in the morning. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after doesn't exactly start as Bucky had planned. Natasha is a good bro and Clint needs a firmer hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR YOU AWESOME PEOPLE !!
> 
> I am incredibly grateful for every single bit of support you all showed for the first chapter. Each comment, each kudos and bookmark means the world to me. I appreciate it all and hope you like this second chapter.

Habit pulled him from sleep in the early morning hours. There wasn't even a sign of the rising sun yet. 

He blinked and took a deep breath, waiting for his senses to fully wake up. The first thing to notice was the pressure against his front, a warm body leaning into his and the faint smell of smoke and burned metal. Memories of the evening came back, the thought of Clint's return causing him to smile. He liked waking up like this, knowing his friend was fine, back home unharmed. It gave him a peace of mind he had missed for a long time in his life. Second thought was the realisation that neither of them had moved all night. He was still spooned up against the archer's back, hearing him snore softly. He would have loved to stay like this, but he knew staying in bed after waking up always resulted in restlessness.

He moved, carefully and slowly. Like when they were playing that game, Dr.Bibber, where every fast or uncoordinated movement meant a buzzing sound and light, he pulled his hand and arm free from Clint's hold. The archer gave a muffled sound, but didn't move much, seemingly staying asleep. Bucky pressed his lips to his neck once more, then rolled onto his back and rubbed his face with both hands. The only light in the room came from the street lamps that shone through the cracks between the curtains. It couldn't be later than 6.30am, 7am at maximum. There was no need to pull Clint from apparently deep and restful sleep.

He left the bed and closed the door behind him as he stepped into the small hallway, heading for the kitchen. A low ache in his stomach reminded him of the fact, that he should have eaten more the evening before. He started the coffee machine and turned some music on, that began to play lowly from some kind of wireless speakers, that Clint had insisted on installing. To take him to the 21st century, he had said. He began planning some breakfast, relieved to find some pre-made mix for waffles and pancakes left in the almost empty pantry. Clint was right, they needed to run errands. He wasn't exactly looking forward to that, but saw the need for it. Plus, with his friend in tow he could tune out the people around them.

As it was too early to start on breakfast, he searched for his phone, surprised to find a message from Natasha.

>>Our Birdie with you? He fled before mandatory MC<<

The muscles around his jaw tightened, cold spreading in his chest. There had been a gut feeling about Clint not feeling as fine as he had pretended to do, but Natasha wasn't a mother hen by nature. She for sure never fussed without reason. He checked the time stamp of the message. 2.36am.

"Damn it, Clint" he muttered and the grip around his phone tightened as he typed back.

>>He's here. Sleeping. Said he's fine. Looked fine. What happened? Why the smoke scent?<<

He hit send, already barely holding back from calling her, but at only 7.04am, he wasn't overly hopeful to receive answers any time soon. The wait until the information he needed would be passed on, would be a test on his nerves. Had Clint lied to him? 

His phone started buzzing with an incoming call less than thirty seconds after he had sent the message. 

Not good. NotGood. NOTGOOD.

The words reeled in his mind, the phone was moved to his fleshy hand before being almost crashed against his ear.

"What happened?" He sounded frantic, his voice higher than usually.

"Take a deep breath, James" How could she sound so calm and collected ? How was she even already up after having returned just the evening before?

"How ? It's seven in the morning and you call me about him, which you last did after he left SHIELD medical AMD after the Java debacle! What happened on your mission?"

" _ Our  _ mission?"

He didn't like the tone in her voice. His patience was always close to nonexisting on the topic. His nostrils flared as he sucked in a deep breath, about to lose it with the guessing game he felt being played with. With a growing inner restlessness he started pacing back and forth in front of the kitchen.

"What  _ did  _ he tell you about  _ his _ mission?"

She spoke before he could ask another question. His mission. He hadn't been out with back up as expected. The ache in his stomach intensified.

"He was shivering and said it's from having to adapt to the different climate. He's been in Malaysia and was already here when I came home from my shift. We had dinner, he almost crashed, but fought sleep till I joined him. He's still out"

He couldn't keep the underlying annoyance from his voice. He obviously didn't know enough, where was the point in tiptoeing around the topic?! Natasha let out a huff and he could hear some rustling in the line, the sound of a closing door.

"He was out alone. There had been reports about a militant underground association reforming after almost two decades. SHIELD had him camp out on top of a company building. He gathered intel mostly, evidence and photos about who came and went. A simple job, mostly stakeout "

"Natasha, get to the point. A stakeout hardly ever needs a MC in the aftermath. You are explaining nothing here"

"He was  _ alone _ , on a  _ 24floor building  _ for almost  _ three weeks.  _ Extraction came as scheduled, but a tropical storm rolled in. The young pilot refused to let Clint take over when the storm rose to a typhoon.."

His mouth went dry. His head was putting together the pieces. Quinjet in a typhoon. Smoke. Hot metal.

"They crashed… " he breathed out, hardly audible.

"Almost, they crash landed. Picked up after a couple of hours. The scans of the Quinjet sensors showed no major injuries on either of them at that point. Their jet was almost totalled, Stark had a fit seeing it. Barton debriefed and left without further notice. Coulson is about to stop by with his favorite doc in tow. Tell me you check him over and I'll hold back the cavalry"

He  _ had  _ lied to him. Hiding under the baggy clothes, he had assured him that he was fine. He felt betrayed, and worried. A ton of questions running through his mind.

"I'm not a damn doctor"

"I know, James" She sounded tired suddenly, his voice coming out in a sigh. "He left here and went to you. He did a good job, provided more info than anyone hoped for. It's his trust in you that made him move. You know about his issues with the doctors here. There's something he hasn't told. Find out what that is"

"We agreed to stop with the hiding. I asked him if he's okay. He lied  _ again" _

Natasha sighed. 

"James… he's trying. He came to you. He could have hidden anywhere. It's hard on him still to ask for help. It's showing weakness for him. He didn't lie, he didn't say  _ anything _ , did he?"

"A lie by omission is still a lie, he should know.."

"... that you are the only person he can trust to wait till he's ready to let his mask down. Talk sense into him, but keep the anger out of it, it's not gonna help otherwise.  _ You  _ know him, James"

"I’m not angry. I’m disappointed. I'll bring him in, if I see more than scratches on him"

"We will see about that"

"Wha..?"

"What I said, James. You'll know what to do. Now excuse me, but I have a senior agent and a doctor to hold back and sleep to catch up on. Steve wants to stop by at your place some time this weekend. I'll tell him to call first. Tell our Birdie to let me in on escape plans next time. Bye James"

She sounded almost chipper by the end of her lecture, blowing him a kiss over the line before it clicked and went silent. A second he just stood there, staring ahead at the back of the sofa. Breaking out of his paralysis seconds later, he put the phone down on the kitchen counter. Both hands gripped the edge of the counter tightly as his head dropped forward, deep slow breaths taken in an effort to stay calm. For seconds he stood there, going over Natasha's words again.

  
  


"....  _ you are the only person he can trust to wait… _ "

He cursed to himself, wishing the man would finally understand what danger he put himself in with these acts, how much people worried and cared. Okay. Staying calm was the key. He would still get his lecture though. No way around it, they had had that discussion too often at that point. 

He straightened up and went into the bedroom. Careful not to wake him just yet, he kneeled by the bed and extended his hand, fingers coming to rest on the pulse point at the side of his neck.

Steady. A bit too fast. Maybe he was dreaming. At least he couldn't detect any trembling in him or worse, not with the quick once over anyway. He remained by his side, cupped his cheek and ran his thumb over his skin. Clint didn't even stir, slept as deep as he hardly ever did and Bucky couldn't help being concerned about a possible concussion he had missed the evening before. 

"You're a goddamn stubborn kid, big boy" he muttered before getting up. It was too early to wake him, he could give him a couple of hours.

~*~

Laundry was done, the errand list written, the trash taken out and breakfast prepared. Bucky had needed to keep busy, otherwise he would sunken too deep into the nagging question of why Clint hadn't told him anything. By the time 9am rolled around he was back in the bedroom, going on his knees in front of Clint. He took a hearing aid from the bedside table and put it into place, stroking through his hair and gently tugging on his ear- the safest action to guarantee to wake him up.

It took a bit, but finally he stirred, curled up more and jerked, then stiffened. 

"Urgh...fuck.." 

Pressing his face into the pillow, Bucky could still see his features tighten, the muscles around his jaw locking up. He was in pain, without a doubt. The worry shot through him like a stab to the chest. His hand moved to Clint's shoulder, trying to roll him onto his back with gentle force. The archer resisted. Of course he did.

"Clint" 

His voice was calm, but held a certain firm undertone. 

"Don't make this even harder. I'm going to check you over and then we go from there" He increased the pressure on his shoulder and finally Clint gave in, came to rest on his back, eyes opening slowly and focusing on the ceiling for a moment, before turning to Bucky. He took a breath, shallow and controlled.

"Told you I'm okay, Bucky"

His voice already exposed him as a liar, low and hitching. Bucky reached out to cup his neck, firmly and squeezing more when Clint opened his mouth again. Their eyes met and Bucky raised a brow.

"How many times have we gone over this, Clint?“

>>—>

Something was tugging on his ear. No, not something, but someone. It pulled him from deep sleep, from welcomed blackness and quiet. He wasn‘t ready to wake up. He also hated it when someone touched his ears. Only very few people had that privilege Coulson, Tony, Natasha and Bucky. 

Bucky, who had gone to stay with. Why did he even wake him? He usually allowed him to sleep in as long as he wanted. He wanted the rest! He curled up in protest and the sudden sharp pain in various places made him jerk and groan into the pillow. Shit that hurt ! Pressure on his shoulder urged him to roll over, but he didn‘t want to. He was too busy figuring out how deep he could breathe before it hurt. 

Bucky‘s voice was firm, holding a warning. Why did he try again? He had told him he was fine. It was just bruises. Bruises needed hours to form and then hurt like a bitch. He was okay. Or would be. He just wanted quiet and catch up on rest. Only that fighting against Bucky‘s hold hurt even more. The muscles in his side felt sore to a level that bordered on constant cramping. So he gave in, landed on his back and looked at the ceiling until his body felt ready to do more than hurt. 

He reassured him he was okay, hating his voice for betraying him. Bucky looked… upset. His eyes were focused on him, forehead in a light frown and he had that no- nonsense expression that warned him about thinking twice what to say next. The touch on his neck kept him from looking away as he felt guilt creep in. It also was a touch of comfort only Bucky provided. Comfort with control, gentle but dominant. He loved it when he did that. It made him feel safe, although he knew what was coming and disliked it already.

„I didn‘t want the medical touches yesterday“

Bucky took a deep breath, thumb stroking the side of his neck. It made him shiver, his muscles aching with the tremble. Bucky‘s shoulders relaxed, his face softened while he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, eyes never leaving him.

„ I‘ve had to stay in one spot for three weeks, too high up to hear much besides wind or occasional aircrafts. Open space all around me, no one with me. Mada.. Extraction went shit and debrief took two hours. I just.. I needed the noises and lights to stop, all the talking around. I was tired, felt the aching grow, everybody got too close, too loud. I felt nothing but bruises and wanted nobody around, besides you and the silence of your place. I don‘t know what would have happened if I stayed. Fuck… it was leaving or getting into deep shit trouble“

He had explained his problem with open spaces to Bucky once, the adapting problems after longer solo missions. He sighed and closed his eyes, hoping he would understand his motives. He was still too tired to put up much of a fight, not to talk about the fact that he hated arguing with Bucky more than with anybody else. He heard him take a deep breath and his hand disappeared from his neck, only to be felt to wiggle under the covers and his hoodie a second later. 

"Are you ready  _ now?"  _

He opened his eyes, felt Bucky's hand rest low his stomach, close to his hip. He briefly wondered if he was as patient and calm on his job as he was with him, waiting for permission and adapting to needs, instead of letting his training take over. Seconds ticked by and the archer wasn't sure if he was or not. He wanted to allow Bucky, but even his light touch felt uncomfortable and he couldn't place it if it was the knowledge about what his friend would find under the fabric, or if it was the touch itself his mind was revolting against. 

"Don't know..." he said truthfully and took a deep breath himself before adding "..but you can. Rather you than anyone else" He braced himself against the discomfort and made an attempt to sit up. He didn't even get halfway through the motion, before his muscles protested and locked up. His side seized all the way from hip to shoulder, causing his breath to catch and his left hand to come up and press against his ribs in reflex. Cramping stabbing pain caused his vision to blur. The only thing that kept him from falling back into the pillow, was Bucky's arm, that was suddenly around him and held him in a sitting position. 

"Breathe. Even if it hurts. Breathe deep. In and out" His voice was still so calm, his hand back on his neck, his forehead resting against Clints as he tried to follow the instruction. He bit his lip hard, nostrils flaring as he followed his advice. "That's it, that's good. I'll take the hoodie off, can you stay upright? Can you help me?" 

"Of course!"

It turned out to not be that easy. Locked up muscles made it hard to raise his left arm, bruised thorax protesting the deep breaths he needed to breathe through the pain. He jerked a few times, finally rested sitting against the headboard while Bucky reached under the bed, pulling out a bright colored bag. Clint bit his lip, leaning his head back and bracing for the moment when…

"Jesus, Clint!"

He didn't dare looking, but forced a deep breath. He counted slowly in his mind. Eight.. nine…. Ten…

Their eyes met and the disapproval he saw in Bucky's was enough to make him feel guilty. His friend's face expression got harder and he reached for the bag, opened the zipper and pulled out a stethoscope, bandages and something like a thick pen. Clint just tried to relax, watching Bucky and trying to figure out how pissed exactly he was. He already prepared himself for the lecture, but it didn't come as Bucky pulled his buzzing phone out of his pocket next moment. 

"Hey Natasha, forgot something? "

Clint stiffened. The tension caused him to gasp and fist his hands. Bucky's hand came up to rest on his cramped up ones. Had they talked before? Shit. That was not good. If Natasha called something was so absolutely not going according to plan!

Bucky looked at him, face unreadable. 

"Yeah, I'm checking him over. He looks like a truck hit him, purple and blue all over…. No he breathes okay, don't think there are fractures… Yeah tell him I'll make sure he gets grounded if needed… no they won't be needed… Yeah I got Varma's number too.. Yeah, will do. Monday afternoon. Alright. Yes Natasha. Go sleep finally. Tell him I got it. Yeah, you too"

He hung up and Clint stared at him, frown in his forehead growing deeper by the second.

"Tell who?"

"Coulson. He was about to bust in here with Varma"

He sat up straight, eyes wide, but before words actually came out, Bucky moved closer. His big hand came up to rest across his chest, pushing him back to relax against the headboard of the bed. The contact was reassuring, ground along with Bucky's calm demeanor.

"I'm taking the responsibility for you. He won't come. Condition is I check you over and treat you as needed. We won't need them, right?"

He just shook his head, eyes locked with Bucky's for a few more seconds. He swallowed dryly and as if Bucky had guessed the reaction of his body, he handed him the glass of water. He sipped half of it and gave it back, slumping against the headboard, only to jerk up straight again when bruises protested the slouching. He bit his lip hard, breathed through it. Two decades of agent training and duty had taught him how to deal with pain. He allowed his head to drop forward, seeing his torso for the first time. 

"Shit.."

That looked  _ bad.  _

"Head up, look at me"

He followed the instruction on instinct, but jerked his head away when he was met with a light shining in his eyes. He cursed again, the bright flash having instantly caused his eyes to sting and his head to throb, dully only, but still unpleasant. Bucky wasn't having it, his hand coming up to hold him by his chin, worried look on him. It was exactly  _ that  _ look, why he hadn't said anything earlier. Worry. Care. Also a good part upset, the kind of mix he didn't want him to feel, but caused regularly. 

"Headache?"

"Wasn't prepared for the light, I told you I.."

"Clint.."

Uh. He swallowed again and the will to cover it, up left him at the stern voice. Shit. That got him.  _ Each.single.time. _

"Yeah, but the kind of dull throb I get sometimes? No concussion headache. I wasn't expecting the light and it made my eyes sting"

"Okay, look at me. Only takes a few seconds"

It did. He checked his eyes, agreed to the judgment that he didn't have a concussion. He dropped the pen light and moved on.

"Tell me about the crash"

He fought the instinct to correct him. They hadn't crashed. Not fully. Crash  _ landed.  _

"A typhoon moved in twenty-five minutes before extraction arrived. Young pilot refused to let me fly, said he has orders. Small town Malaysia surrounded by jungle and the kid had no fucking clue on how to handle the quinjet. It suddenly tilted sideways and he lost control, we dropped and were caught by trees, I connected with the navigation console and.."

The bigger man's hand had just let go of his chin, satisfies that he was recalling the events, but it snapped up again to grab his neck. A strong hold. He wasn't amused.

"You were not strapped in?"

Fuck.

"I… it wasn't long after take off and.."

"Clint Barton! Have you refused to strap in for the flight  _ again?" _

He lowered his eyes, basically already answering the question with silence.

"Shit. Clint ! Why? Do you like the pain or do you care that little about yourself?"

He felt his ears heat up in shame. He had the tendency to not be precautious enough, to not pay enough attention to his own safety. He knew it. Coulson had called him out on it so many times over the years. And he and Bucky had had that conversation before. It wasn't like he did it on purpose, but there had bee too many years when he had been the judge of his own limits, focusing on the goals more than on the  _ how  _ to get there. An accomplished mission was what had counted for him. Get the job done and don't be seen. Pain had been acceptable. Healing injuries had been acceptable. He had taken care of everything himself. Coulson had come along and tried to teach him that him getting hurt meant more than pain he had to deal with. He had understood, after a while at least, but old habits died hard, especially on mission. 

He opened his mouth, about to say something, but closed it again, when Bucky squeezed his neck once more.

"Think about your words, Clint. You got until I'm finished with you. Treatment first, because Coulson gave a small timeframe, but we  _ will talk  _ about this"

Bucky still talked calm and he always got confused by that. He could deal with being yelled at, at least anger was an emotion he knew how to handle and react to. Calm, caring and reasonable talking wasn't always easy for him to wrap his head around. It was exactly what Bucky did though- checked him for concussion, for fractured ribs, for cuts that needed more than a little cleaning, had him get up and performed some tests to test his focus. His muscles protested a lot of times, but in the end it was clear that there wasn't more than deep tissue bruising, strained muscles and small cuts- very much to Bucky's relief. 

Bucky reported all of that back to Coulson, who called just minutes after they had sat down for breakfast, which was served with an addition of painkillers and muscle relaxers for Clint, which, in first instinct , he had wanted to refuse. He was very convinced, though, that Bucky wasn't beyond slipping him something. 

"He's got nothing, that a few days of rest and painkillers won't cure…. His head is  _ mostly  _ fine… Yeah very deep bruising, was probably close to fracturing ribs.. Look into that pilot, please? He seems to not have been up to it…. Yes, Agent Coulson… Of course… Yes, Understood. Good bye, Agent Coulson and thank you"

  
  


Looking up from his waffles, the archer raised a brow at Bucky. He had a special position concerning SHIELD affairs. He knew how the system ran and although he wasn't an active part of the Avengers anymore, his opinions were valued to a certain degree. The way he  _ pressured  _ Coulson into checking that pilot though, the calm but stern, almost warning low voice, was almost aggressive measured by Bucky's standards. Damn, why did he think this was so fucking hot?

"They bench you until next monday and don't give me that look, Clint. You know bruises get worse before they get better. I'll be surprised if you can halfway move by the end of the day and no, that is  _ not a challenge _ "

He bit his lip, holding eye contact while taking another bite of the waffles. They were good and how had Bucky even made them with his stocks down to crumbs that could have made any starving rat cry in frustration. He considered protesting, he seriously did. Being  _ benched  _ meant being  _ bored .  _ If he left Bucky's place, he would have nothing to do. Being benched meant no shooting range, no gym, no access to weapons and if Bucky wasn't around to enforce downtime, either Natasha or Coulson were.

  
  


"Are you off work for the week?"

Casual tone, very good. No suspicious intentions swinging in it. 

"No, I have the early shift starting Monday at 5am"

His fork sank down, eyes on Bucky. That meant...Jesus fucking Christ, he would die from boredom ! It was official then. He was  _ benched  _ for bruises, because the young agent couldn't fly well enough and he neither had training options, nor Bucky's company for most of the day. He stuffed his mouth with another piece of waffle.

"Great"

Yeah, he was close to pouting. That was not how he had pictured this to go !! Forehead in a frown he kept looking at his plate. 

"And if I am fine in a couple of days? I could.."

Bucky set his fork down, slowly. He took a deep breath, the kind that was very audible for the archer and a moment later Bucky's fingers were holding his chin again, forcing his head to turn slowly. His eyes were like daggers when they made eye contact. Clint swallowed his bite of waffle down thickly.

"Clint.." Fuck, that stern voice! He gripped the fork tighter, trying to keep the poker face. "You will stay away from bow and arrows, gym and shooting range until next monday. That's less than ten days and less than any doctor normally advices for your injuries. I'll be home in the afternoons and if I find you bouncing around roofs and up and down fire escapes again before that Monday, I swear to you I'll spank your ass purple this time"

That hit. His eyes widened, slowly but visibly. Was he serious? Bucky's face looked very serious. The archer's mouth tried to curl into a smile. Nah, he wouldn't. He'd spanked him before, sure, but only as a warning and light, four swats was the highest he had ever gotten and it had been rather playful. So, he couldn't fight the slowly growing smirk.

"Count on it, I'm dead serious this time, Clint"

The smile fell from his face. He  _ was  _ serious! 

Shit.

**Author's Note:**

> That’s it for now. Lemme know what you think in the comments.  
> I’ve also got a work called „make a wish“ where anybody can request stories at any time. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. Have a great week and stay safe and healthy !!


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